


What a Waste (Of a Lovely Night)

by admiraloftheships



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Lovely Night, Broody Draco Malfoy, Draco Threw Harry The Wand, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Genderbending, La La Land, Malfoy has changed, Not a Musical Though, lyrics used as dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24590647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiraloftheships/pseuds/admiraloftheships
Summary: Five years have passed since Draco threw Harriet Potter his wand and watched her defeat Voldemort. Since then, he's faded into obscurity, while Harry has continued to lead and grow in fame. Draco usually spends Ministry galas on his own, enjoying the view. On this particular day, someone decides to join him.Or: an excuse to shove the lyrics to A Lovely Night into a conversation because I have the movie stuck in my head again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 98





	What a Waste (Of a Lovely Night)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Was written in a burst at midnight and I'm not sure how good it'll be. Also, I recommend listening to the song (and watching the scene) first if you like, just to get a feel of what kind of mood I'm trying to capture here. Have fun!

It really was, Draco Malfoy mused, a lovely night. He stood on the edge of a balcony, on one of the higher floors of a luxurious Muggle building, which had been in use as the new headquarters for the Ministry of Magic for several years at this point.

There had been talk about moving out and back to more traditional headquarters. But the Ministry had never been one for updating facilities, and the toilets here were far less likely to explode. Also, there was a chocolate shop downstairs that Draco had been informed had enchanted half of the ministry in an entirely non-magical way.

The wind made a half-hearted attempt to ruffle his hair, sending his tie flapping. It also brought the sounds of the party behind him clearly to his ears, muted conversation and laughter, lounge jazz, and the clinking of hundreds of magically refilling wineglasses.

Five years. Since the world had finally quietened down. Since he’d thrown his wand to Harry Potter and watched it be used to defeat the Dark Lord. 

Draco took another long drink from his glass. He was beginning to hate these parties.

Everyone was trying to move on. The next generations were arriving, full of vigour and ready to change the world. And here he stood still, drinking more wine.

His family had secretly been funding the reconstruction of the Ministry of Magic, which had been low on funds since the Undertaking, when Potter and a veritable army of wizards had systematically defeated Voldemort’s remaining disciples and retaken England’s magical sites.

But not before several of them had destroyed priceless artifacts and disposed of Ministry funds.

Of course, it had all been done in secrecy. It wouldn’t do to let any wizard associate the Ministry with Malfoy influence, even though he and his father had been in no shape to demand anything after the Battle of Hogwarts.

Still, though, occasionally an invite would roll in the mail. His father no longer left the estate, but always insisted that Draco attend to keep up the reputation, and “meet people”.

Draco wasn’t sure if his father realised that he wouldn’t be meeting a lot of eligible witches who weren’t just waiting for the money. Especially since he’d gone to lengths to conceal how much money the Malfoys really had left.

Also, most of his donations were made to the Auror branch, which was currently headed by a certain dark-haired, pretty and unstoppable witch.

In fact, Draco had never gotten over his massive, unrequited crush on Harry Potter. She of the bright green eyes and permanently messy black hair, scowling at him as usual. Draco wasn’t entirely stupid, he’d figured out in year 4, when to his immense irritation he kept finding himself worried whenver Potter did something extraordinarily stupid, which was to say: constantly.

He kept needling her, though. Getting a rise out of Potter always put a smile on his face, because he had her attention, pathetically enough, and always wanted to keep it.

And also because Potter’s annoyed face was supremely attractive, but Draco always tried to push that particular feeling down.

So, no, Draco was most definitely not going to fulfil his father’s wish. Draco hadn’t even spoken to Potter since the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. 

He’d been standing outside of where the Room of Requirement was, trying not to think about how Crabbe had died in his own inferno, and how euphoric and instantly repentant he’d been when he’d felt Potter’s hand grasp his own to pull him to safety. 

Then she’d come up behind him, her face bruised and smeared with dirt, her glasses slightly askew, looking slumped and utterly drained from defeating a Dark Lord not hours before. 

“Food’s here, Malfoy,” she’d said, that irreverent tone sparking something to life back inside him. 

Potter was looking down, biting her lip, wringing her hands, and generally making Malfoy feel like tilting her head up and kissing the two-time saviour of the Wizarding World for as long as possible. 

“I never said thank you. I might’ve died if you hadn’t...”

Draco found himself answering immediately. “And you’ll never have to.”

“Well, I’m thanking you anyway. I always thought you weren’t all bad. And take it back,” Harry thrust Draco’s wand back into his hands. Draco took it dumbly. Potter...didn’t hate him?

Instead, she was just standing there, looking him in the eyes with mild curiosity, those kissable lips parted slightly, and then, before he could do anything, she’d whispered a goodbye and left.

She’d taken Draco’s heart with her, although he still refused to admit it, which was why Draco was currently drinking wine on a massive balcony overlooking London.

Draco was getting much better at high-quality moping. It was just much easier to do than confront his feelings or pretend to be interested in doing anything.

It wasn’t like there was too much to do, anyway. 

Not surprisingly, whenever he showed up to one of these events, beyond the polite nods and smiles, he got nothing else except cold judgement. 

And he understood why. His family had basically facilitated the torture and deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, of Muggles and wizards alike across Europe. It was even more awkward when the Albanians had showed up for this particular party. 

It wasn’t quite common knowledge, but when Voldemort had disappeared after the confrontation with Dumbledore, he’d sent Lucius Malfoy to Albania to destroy any traces of his former living areas. 

Of course, the Albanians were already working on the scene, and had to be...disposed of. Apparently, the Albanians had discovered evidence that Voldemort had Horcruxes, and that had sent him into a fury.

He’d torn a deadly swath through Albania, which had never been quite the same again. 

Lucius Malfoy, whether he meant it or not, had started that. So to stay in the same room as the Albanians was...awkward, to say the least. 

The balcony at these events was often deserted anyway. It was just colder and not quite as luxurious.

Draco didn’t mind. This was his spot, and no one ever came to disturb him. No one wanted to, and not because of fear. It was pity and disgust, and Draco had learnt to take that silently.

Inside his mind, sometimes he comforted himself. None of them, Draco told himself, had thrown a wand to Harry Potter, watched her face, set with pure courage and determination, as she’d destroyed Voldemort once and for all. 

Draco had, and that would have to be enough. The memory of that. Draco breathed out and drank another long gulp from his glass. 

He would’ve been happy to keep going, but it was at that moment when he heard, over the wind, footsteps behind him. Draco paused, his glass halfway to his lips.

“Don’t let me stop you,” the smooth, velvet voice of Harry Potter said, “I’ve heard great things about that wine.”

Draco turned around fully and tried to breathe properly. There she was. Harry Potter. Clad in a tight, dark blue sleeveless dress which showed off her bare arms, and her shoulder length black hair swayed over her shoulders.

She arched one eyebrow from behind those glasses, sparkling green eyes flicking over his face, as she, too, took a drink from her glass. 

“Potter,” Draco said curtly. 

“Malfoy,” she replied bluntly.

“What a surprise to see you here,” Draco drawled, “although I must say I’m utterly shocked that you’d talk to anyone except Weasley.”

Potter snorted, raising one hand to adjust her glasses. “Trust me, Malfoy, you’re hardly my first choice. I don’t go for brooding, silent types.”

“Usually.” she added, smirking playfully at him.

Draco tried to discreetly choke on his drink. 

“Well, then, why are you here?” Draco asked.

Potter glanced over her shoulder. “There’s at least five men in there who are far too persistent for my liking. I thought that if I stood nearer you your aura of depression and moodiness would dampen their attraction.”

Draco was trying his very best not to stare, but it wasn’t quite working, and Potter caught him staring when she turned back around.

“What is it now, Malfoy?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “Got another good joke to play on me?”

“No!”

The objection comes out a bit more vehemently than he’d meant it to, and his heart lurches as Potter’s hand immediately darts to the wand holster slung around her slender waist. 

Draco reaches out a hand, slowly, calmly. “No, I just...needed to apologize.”

Potter was really looking confused now. “Apologize? You? Now? Malfoy, it’s been-”

“Yes, it’s been years,” Draco interrupted, “which is why this is long overdue. I was a prat. A massive dick. To not just you but half the school. And I want to let you know that I’ve changed. And I’m sorry. And I’m glad you managed to catch my wand.”

Potter had been looking more and more shocked, and frankly it was really cute, but Draco was not prepared for her reaction to his final line.

Potter’s face had instantly transformed, devilishly grinning. “Of course I could, Malfoy, it was your wand, after all. Wands are like their owners, don’t they say? Easy to take on.”

Draco found himself mock scowling, his shoulders loosening up. How long had it been since he’d had a talk like this? 

But who was he kidding? Draco asked himself. This was a really bad idea. He could not try to flirt with Harry Potter of all girls. It didn’t matter, he told himself, that she was insanely pretty or brave or assertive or powerful, what mattered was that she was Potter, and he was Malfoy. 

So he had to make it clear. He didn’t like her, and would probably try his best not to see her again. He didn’t like her. Not at all.

Draco turned to look out at the sky. The sun was setting, burning into the horizon deep purple and orange hues that looked like a beautiful canvas painting. 

He could still feel the force of Potter’s eyes on him.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“The sun is nearly gone,” Draco said, “The lights are turning on.”

He was right, London’s nighttime splendour was beginning to burn to life. Draco tried not to think about how easily his mother's old lessons on poetry and description leapt back into his mind instantly when it came to Potter. 

“A silver shine that stretches to the sea.”

Draco steeled himself to do what he planned to do. He didn’t like her, he told himself again.

“We’ve stumbled on a view that’s tailor-made for two,” he said, waving off the balcony at the London skyline.

“What a shame those two are you and me,” Draco forced himself to say, turning around to face away from Potter, who had crossed her arms. That had basically forced Draco to turn because Auror training had been very good to Potter’s figure, and it wouldn't do for him to be staring at her while he was trying to find a way to break his strange obsession with her. 

“Some other girl and guy,” Draco found himself musing, “would love this swirling sky. But there’s only you, and I.”

He turned to face her, and saw that Potter did not look particularly amused. Good, Draco thought, right? His stomach felt otherwise. 

“And we’ve got no shot.” Draco gestured at her, then back at him. “This could never be. You’re not the type for me.”

“Really?” Potter whispered, rolling her eyes, her head cocked cutely to one side, scowling at him with that trademark expression that made Draco’s heart beat faster.

“And there’s not a spark in sight,” Draco told her, telling himself that it was true. She was Potter, he was a damn _Malfoy_. If two people were meant to dislike each other it couldn't have been better than the two of them

Shaking his head in disappointment, Draco gestured to the beautiful sunset on the horizon.

“What a, a waste of a lovely night.”

With that, Draco quaffed what was left of his drink and spun on his heel, his heart pounding.

\--

Harriet Jean Potter was at once offended and pleased, and she tried to put apart those complicated feelings to instead scowl harder at Malfoy’s retreating back. 

She quickly stepped forward, reaching up to grab onto Malfoy’s shoulder and spin him back around to face her, feeling the warmth of his body on her hand as she did so. Harry couldn’t help but smirk at Malfoy’s utterly gobsmacked expression.

“You say there’s nothing here, well, let’s make something clear.” Harry stepped forward right into his space, jabbing a finger up at his chin. “I think I’ll be the one to make that call.”

Malfoy struggled to keep his face straight and his brooding persona active. Cute attempt, Harry thought, but that wouldn’t be enough. If she knew Malfoy, he’d try to regain his balance with a quick quip.

“But you’ll call?” Malfoy quipped. 

Harry tried to ignore the hopeful undertones and continued to speak, trying to remember the endless arguments and fights she’d had with Malfoy. it was getting hard to focus. Focus, she told herself. Don't imagine him under the suit, try...try...the suit, oh that could work.

“And though you look so cute in your polyester suit,” Harry said, keeping her face disinterested, plucking at the fabric of Malfoy’s black suit (Black. Honestly, he was so predictable).

“It’s wool,” Malfoy shot back.

Harry spun to face away from Malfoy, huffing. “You’re right; I’d never fall for you at all.”

Harry looked again out at that sunset. She hadn’t had too many actual romantic chances over the years, due to being the Girl-Who-Lived and all that fatal jazz. There’d been a brief experimentation with Hermione when they’d been in the tent alone during the hunt for the Hallows, but nothing else. Also, she was fairly sure she was straight.

It wasn't like she was hoping for a man to just sweep her off her feet, right? Well, she still thought about it sometimes. Something inside her still thought of those old books and movies that the Dursleys occasionally let her read and watch. The feeling of effortless wonder. The first thing she'd felt was like magic.

“And maybe this appeals to someone not in heels,” Harry said, wincing as her footsteps reminded her of the “fashionable” heels Ginny kept insisting she wear. “Or any girl who feels there’s some chance for romance.”

Here, Harry fake-swooned, making sure to catch Draco’s eye. Malfoy’s face flushed and he stalked towards her. 

Malfoy looked cute, but that was surely it. Sure, he’d changed. Saved her life. She was fairly sure that he’d been personally bankrolling the Aurors for no return of favours. Nothing, Harry told herself. There was no chance.

“But, I’m frankly feeling nothing,” Harry shook her head dismissively at Malfoy.

“Is that so?” Malfoy asked, his voice tinged with something Harry couldn’t quite interpret which sent shivers down her spine.

“Or it could be less than nothing,” Harry retorted, stepping closer to Malfoy.

“Good to know,” he sneered back, but Harry could sense no menace behind his words.

“So you agree-” 

“That’s right,” Harry cut him off, the two of them stepping even closer to each other, so close Harry could count Malfoy’s eyelashes as he bent down to her, his warmth saturating the air around her, her lips close to his, something crackling in the air between them, their faces set smugly, Harry looking up into nearly ice-cold eyes. 

She could feel his breath mingling with hers as they both spoke at once. 

“ _What a waste of a lovely night._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> I love Damien Chazelle so much. Him and Justin Hurwitz are incredible, and I tried to capture that slightly playful, slightly clashing battle of personalities which Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling had in the movie. Hopefully the lyrics fit into normal dialogue as well as I thought they would. I really do wish they'd kept Draco's redemption arc in Deathly Hallows Part 2. Made his character really grow imo when he was used as a cheap side antagonist the rest of the time. Anyway, I hoped you liked reading it, and maybe I'll put in a sequel/spinoff eventually.


End file.
